


When Did We Get So Domestic?

by orphan_account



Category: Dracula (TV 2020)
Genre: 21st Century, Drama-queen!Dracula, Established Relationship, M/M, technically not a modern AU..., that chapter is tagged don't worry, this is absolutely the fluff you're looking for, very gay, very light, violence and mild homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22574716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A little AU in which Dracula didn’t end up killing Jonathan at the convent (yay!) and Johnny survived into the 21st century, under several aliases and James-Bond-worthy disguises. Dracula still slept in his box for those 123 years, but escaped from the JHF and didn’t pull any of the bullshit that followed.
Relationships: Dracula/Jonathan Harker
Comments: 29
Kudos: 172





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is pretty much just a chance for me to flesh out some ideas that have been bouncing around in my head. ~~In other words, it's purely self-indulgent~~ This is more of a drabble collection than a chaptered fic, but the events sort of fit together, if you squint real hard... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

“Johnny! I need you!”

Jonathan closed his eyes briefly, scraping together his patience. Sometimes it felt like being the Count’s bride amounted to being no more than an unpaid babysitter, and today was clearly no exception. He usually could tell what Dracula wanted by his tone of voice, and this was most likely a call for assistance with 21st century technology – probably his mobile phone.

“Johnny!” The call was more insistent this time, but still it was ignored in the hopes that Dracula would figure it out by himself. Jonathan was comfortably settled in his favourite spot by the fireplace, book open in his lap, and _really_ didn’t want to have to get up. The curtains were drawn to block out the rather watery sunlight, and he was beginning to nod off. He’d found it much easier to fall asleep since arriving in England, and was thankful that he no longer slept as fitfully as he had in Transylvania – something to do with native soil? He couldn’t quite remember.

“Johnny~!” Dracula definitely sounded distressed now. Jonathan huffed and considered simply yelling back. He was about to muster his resolve and stand up when his husband – (God, he _still_ wasn’t used to calling him that) – appeared in the doorway. Dracula’s hair was ruffled and loose, a sure sign that he’d run his fingers through it at least once. Jonathan liked when it was like that – it made the Count look younger and more friendly.

“Darling, I don’t like this bloody thing anymore!” Dracula cried, brandishing his phone. Ah, so it _had_ been that. Before Jonathan could open his mouth to ask why, his husband continued. “I can’t make it work properly; I don’t think it likes me very much…” He paused to give the innocent device a dirty look. “Maybe you’ll be able to work it?” He added hopefully, and Jonathan melted. He shuffled over on the sofa, beckoning the Count to sit next to him. Dracula settled with his arm around Jonathan’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, my love. I do appreciate it.” He murmured.

“Mm hm.” Jonathan replied, only half-skeptically. “What’s the problem with it this time?” He asked. Dracula ran into trouble with modern technology just about every day. If it wasn’t the toaster, it was the television. If it wasn’t the coffee machine, it was the microwave. It was an endless stream of issues, because everything seemed to malfunction in the poor man’s presence.

“I don’t know. The screen doesn’t work.” Dracula answered, sounding faintly annoyed. Jonathan frowned. The phone was relatively new; the screen should be working just fine. He turned it on, unlocked it and turned it back off, but nothing appeared to be wrong with it.

“Dracula…” he began, but then something occurred to him. “Show me how you do it.” He handed to device to his husband, who took it with a sniff. He turned it on with the button, but his fingernails clicked uselessly against the screen when he tried to unlock it again. Jonathan gazed at him for a long moment, desperately fighting the urge to laugh.

“What?” Dracula accused, sounding put out. “Do share with me what’s so hilarious.”

“Remember that film we watched?” Jonathan smiled, managing to keep himself under control with great difficulty – this had to be _the_ funniest thing he’d ever seen Dracula do. “The one about the monster hotel? The one that you claimed was so inaccurate?” Dracula nodded slowly, looking extremely suspicious. Jonathan tried to force down his growing grin.

“Remember how much trouble the vampire had with the touchscreen?” He prompted. His husband searched his face for a moment, bemused. Then-

Jonathan saw the exact moment it clicked in Dracula’s mind, and burst out laughing. He'd called the film a series of brutal inaccuracies - that was _bullshit,_ and Jonathan had never seen anything so funny in his life as the Count's expression in that moment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you're a 500-year-old vampire, who spends large amounts of time in a box full of dirt? 
> 
> This.

Jonathan was quickly coming to the realisation that Dracula had a rather shaky grasp on the concept of time. A _very_ shaky grasp, indeed.

Initially, he’d feared the man’s mind was slowly deteriorating, but had immediately dismissed the idea – he still had clear recollections of his time spent among the living, as well as five hundred years’ worth of other memories – so Jonathan had to consider other possibilities. He’d done extensive research on attention disorders, suspecting the Count possibly suffered from one (or more), but nothing matched up enough with Dracula’s behaviour to warrant a diagnosis. Having reached a dead end on that front, he shrugged and fell back on his original theory; clever people didn’t tend to pay much attention, because they could connect the dots by themselves. It made sense, and he didn’t question it any further.

Unfortunately, that philosophy didn’t apply perfectly to Dracula, either. He could remember his childhood dog’s name, but couldn’t remember when they’d left Castle Dracula for England. It did Jonathan’s head in. Plus, it meant all sorts of other problems – such as paying the bills on time and keeping track of important dates.

“How do you _not_ remember when we got this?” He cried, waving a piece of paper around. It was their monthly electricity bill.

“I do! We got it the day before yesterday, didn’t we?” Dracula replied indignantly.

“No!” Jonathan groaned. “This is from nearly two weeks ago!” He couldn’t believe it. This was the last day to pay it before incurring the penalty. _Of course_ Dracula had looked at it, put it down and forgotten about it.

“So? We’ve got the money.” The Count didn’t seem at all concerned, and was watching Jonathan with something like amusement. Jonathan opened his mouth a few times, incredulous.

“That’s not the point!” He howled, wanting to tear his hair out. “If we don’t pay this on time, it’s a black mark on our record! It’s not about the _money!_ ”

“Don’t get angry with _me_ , I thought it was from Monday!” Dracula looked hurt, like the accusation was unfair. Jonathan took a few deep breaths and silently counted to ten, resisting the urge to throw something at his husband.

“Darling,” he began, drawing himself up straight and tall. “We need to pay these immediately. If you put it down somewhere, you are bound to forget about it. Like you did with this one.” He added, brandishing the letter again for emphasis. Dracula sulked.

“Not my fault. I’m no good with time.” He muttered, crossing his arms like a petulant child. Jonathan’s eye twitched.

“Yes, I am aware of that. Like when you asked if we’d left the castle fifty or sixty years ago…” He said tightly. “And how you looked so surprised when I told you that we had left about _one hundred_ and fifty years ago.”

“Well, when you’ve been around for as long as I have, the years sort of… run together eventually.” Dracula defended, waving an airy hand.

“But a hundred and fifty years?!”

“To be fair, most of that _was_ spent underwater…”

“Oh my god.” Jonathan sighed, giving up. “Just pay the damn bill, would you? Today.” He said, handing over the piece of paper and retreating to the relative sanity of their bedroom. Apparently, he was going to have to write these things on Dracula’s hand from now on. It was like having a toddler!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favourite vampire boys go to Ikea. Also, Dracula is a thirsty hoe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for these last two chapters being so dialogue heavy - Johnny and Drac's interactions are fun to write xD
> 
> I probably won't post another chapter tomorrow night, because I'm going to a concert that I've been looking forward to for literally months and I'm only going to be home late. ~~Alice Cooper, woo!!~~ But for now, enjoy this ♡

Jonathan struggled under the weight of several heavy, full-length curtains. He and Dracula were out shopping for newer, thicker ones, as their existing curtains were becoming problematic in keeping out the sun as summer swiftly approached. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the clock tick 8:35. They were cutting this very fine, because Ikea closed at nine and he was _not_ particularly keen to spend the night here, despite some rather suggestive remarks on Dracula’s part about the bedroom displays. He shifted the fabric in his arms, feeling fatigue creeping into his shoulders.

“I don’t know why I’m having to hold these.” He grouched, giving his husband a beady look.

“You said it would be fine, remember?” The Count replied, somewhat distractedly.

“I didn’t anticipate them being _this_ bloody heavy.” Jonathan muttered, shifting them again. He wandered down the next aisle, hunting for anything that fitted the desired criteria. Suddenly, he spotted a set of curtains that looked perfect. He called out to Dracula excitedly, relieved that their search was finally over and they could go home.

“Found something?” He asked interestedly, sauntering over. Jonathan unloaded his burden onto him and plucked the curtains from the rack, holding them up in lieu of an answer. They were thick and velvety, and the exact length they were looking for. Better still, they were the colour of freshly spilled blood. Dracula hummed contemplatively. Jonathan smiled encouragingly at him, clutching the fabric to his chest.

“I’m not sure about the colour…” Dracula mused, and Jonathan’s jaw dropped.

“What do you mean, _‘not sure about the colour’_?!” He exclaimed, refusing to believe such rubbish. “They’re red!”

“Yes, and?” Dracula challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“But-”

“Just because I’m a vampire doesn’t mean my favourite colour is red!” He sniffed haughtily. _Ah yes, he was an aristocrat, alright._ Jonathan thought tiredly.

“My favourite colour is black, by the way.” His husband added archly. Jonathan quickly made sure there was no one around – there wasn’t; Ikea was almost empty at this time of night – and stepped forward.

“Listen here, you difficult piece of shit,” he hissed. “I will wrap you up in these curtains, throw you into your box, and nail the damn thing shut for another hundred years.”

“Nail me _in_ the box.” Dracula retorted, dark eyes glittering with immature mirth. “And then on one of these _lovely_ Ikea beds.”

“P-please don’t.” Came a rather trembly voice. A short, round man wearing a staff uniform was standing, mid-stride, a few paces away. His cheeks were bright pink and he looked like he wanted nothing more than to sprint away and hide. Jonathan gave him a small smile, wishing the ground would swallow him up. Dracula grinned and leaned in conspiratorially, inconspicuously dropping his armload of curtains onto a nearby rack.

“Don’t tell me that’s never happened before?” He said, lifting an eyebrow in false surprise. The man’s cheeks went even pinker, and he shook his head fervently.

“No, sir. I don’t believe so.” He replied, twisting his fingers together nervously.

“Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything.” Dracula purred, glancing over his shoulder at Jonathan who glared at him witheringly. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” He said tartly. “Stop terrorising this poor man and let’s go. It’s almost closing time, anyway.” He apologised to the employee before putting one hand between his husband’s shoulder blades and shoving him in the direction of the checkouts. Dracula snickered and allowed himself to be steered away.

“That was fun, no?” He smiled, giving Jonathan a cheeky wink.

“No. One day, you’re going to get us banned from Ikea. That will be the day I disown you.”

Dracula simply laughed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dracula has had a musical epiphany, and far too much to drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a very bad, very well-hidden pun here - see if you can find it. xD

The thing about living in the 21st century was that there was infinitely more music than there had been in 1897, and that meant infinitely more choices about it. Jonathan had – luckily – had time to get used to how reliant the modern world was on music. Dracula had _not_ had that luxury. A few weeks after they’d reunited and bought a house, he’d complained that he missed hearing the world around him. Jonathan had squinted at him in the darkness, not entirely sure what his husband wanted him to do about it. _‘It’s quiet now,’_ he’d pointed out. _‘It’s not the same.’_ Dracula had argued. Jonathan had simply sighed and rolled over in bed.

The Count’s opinion on modern music had changed abruptly when he discovered the eighties generation. Eighties hard rock, to be more precise. Jonathan wasn’t sure if he should bless or curse the soul of the poor girl who had (unwillingly) given her lifeblood to fuel Dracula’s bizarre and impossible quest to discover every genre of music. On one hand, it was good that his husband was adapting to the new century so well. On the other, Jonathan could only handle _so_ much grating guitar before he went deaf.

To be completely honest, though, he _was_ appreciative of Dracula’s new look. He’d swapped his tailored pants for form-fitting jeans, and his sweeping cloak for a black leather jacket. The small, gold earring was a nice touch, too. He was still his usual, scary self, but he didn’t look quite so much like something out of a period film anymore.

The new taste in music also came with other benefits, it seemed. Dracula was more open to taking risks, which meant that Jonathan often got to have a good laugh at his expense. He was also keen to test the limits of his body’s capacity to hold liquor. This had led to some hilarious drunken misadventures, but also more than a few hangovers from Hell. Drunk Dracula was free entertainment; hungover Dracula was a deadweight. Jonathan had often found himself nursing his idiot husband back to health – well, as healthy as an undead vampire could be – , each time hoping that he would learn his damn lesson.

Now was one of those times.

“Here, darling.” He said, carefully placing a steaming bowl of beef stew on the coffee table. Dracula moaned feebly and stirred under his blankets. He was on the sofa because Jonathan had refused to let him eat in bed; he was shaking something ridiculous and was likely to make a mess. Jonathan waited for him to wake up a little more and helped him sit upright, before handing him a spoon and instructing him to eat.

“I don’t know if this is going to help, love…” Dracula murmured, nibbling already.

“It’ll help you feel better until I can find you some real food.” Jonathan replied, laying out a few painkillers for him. “Take these while you eat. They should help with the headache.”

“Thank you.” He smiled weakly. Jonathan nodded and pressed a kiss to his forehead. It would be a few hours before the sun set and he could go hunting for fresh blood, so Dracula would have to make do with stew and bread until then. It wouldn’t satisfy his hunger, but it was his favourite human food so it _would_ help lift his mood.

Jonathan spent the rest of the day alternating between napping and keeping an eye on his miserable husband. As soon as the sun touched the horizon and the shadows were long enough to protect him, he kissed Dracula goodbye and left to find another unfortunate victim of the Count’s hangover.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny and Drac run into some trouble in the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my answer to a request for how the boys would deal with homophobia in the modern world. It was also a chance for me to explore how fast I can pull a 180 in a fic. Enjoy! 
> 
> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SCENES OF VIOLENCE AND SOME VERBAL ABUSE

“I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry. You’re a vampire with an insatiable thirst for blood, and a black hole for a stomach.” Jonathan replied absently, carefully reading over the email he was writing to his boss. He’d managed to get back into the legal profession, but it had been an extremely long and delicate procedure. He’d had to enrol in college again, complete his degree again, and then actually find a legal agency with a vacancy again, all the while dodging any difficult questions about his past. His aliases had been impeccable, and he appeared legitimate on official records, but he feared that too much digging by the wrong person could unearth a number of awkward problems – such as how he managed to avoid ageing, or why he insisted on working from home. Officially, he went by Jonathan Herald now, but there would be no record of the birth of a boy named such or of the date of death of Jonathan Harker, for it was never confirmed that he was actually dead. As far as the world was concerned, he’d simply vanished from the convent and off the face of the earth.

“Johnny, my sweet, I really am _very_ hungry.” Dracula prodded, sounding a lot closer. Jonathan sensed him lay his hands on the back of the chair, and twisted around to offer his cheek. Dracula kissed it obligingly, walking two fingers up his spine. Jonathan shivered involuntarily, causing his husband to give a low chuckle. He leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss against his jaw, snaking a hand around his middle and under his shirt. Jonathan protested, but didn’t push him away. Dracula took that as an invitation to continue. He trailed his fingers down Jonathan’s stomach and smiled at the goosebumps it raised on his arms.

“Mmph, you can’t seduce me into letting you bite me.” Jonathan murmured, not fully confident in his own statement. Even after all these years, Dracula was still a charming and irresistible man who was capable of doing anything in order to get exactly what he wanted. He just had more respect for what his bride wanted, now.

“Are you sure?” He whispered teasingly, lips brushing against Jonathan’s ear. Jonathan didn’t reply. He felt the light scrape of Dracula’s teeth against his jugular, but he knew there was no pulse there to tempt him.

“I thought you didn’t drink the blood of the dead.” He said suddenly, and Dracula sighed.

“I don’t _like_ it, but it won’t do me any harm. It’s the blood of the sick and the dying that’s dangerous.”

“Oh. Don’t drink my blood, though, please. I don’t know if my body is making any more.”

“Well, if we could go out hunting, then I wouldn’t have to consider eating you.”

“Alright, fine. Fine.” Jonathan finally relented, stretching. “Just let me change into something else first.” Dracula grinned triumphantly.

About fifteen minutes later, the two were prowling the streets. Night had fallen quickly today, and it was still relatively early. There were people of all types out and about, and Jonathan could almost smell how hungry his husband was. They were making their way to the local pride bar in search of a few drinks and an easy dinner. As they walked, Jonathan tried to come up with ways to deal with Dracula’s ceaseless need to feed.

“We could collect the blood, like they do in hospitals…” he mused, more to himself than to anyone else.

“Are you suggesting that we raid the hospital, my dear?” Dracula asked, sounding suspiciously serious.

“No! I’m suggesting that we keep a supply of blood at home, so that we can drink whenever we need to – not just at night, and when we can find a decent victim.” Jonathan clarified. At first, he had been extremely reluctant to refer to their victims as such, but he’d eventually gotten used to it, which Dracula was rather proud of.

“It’s a good idea, love, but you can’t bottle blood for later.” Dracula said, shaking his head.

“Why not? It keeps well enough, in the right conditions.”

“Dead blood goes all sour and… yuck.”

“‘Yuck’? How many hundreds of years have you been speaking English, and all you can come up with is _‘yuck’_?”

“ _Honestly_ , I should have just left you at home!”

Jonathan laughed at that, and slipped his hand into Dracula’s. His husband pressed a small kiss to the side of his head, squeezing his hand. Suddenly, a man yelled at them from across the street. Jonathan didn’t hear exactly what he said, but the sentiment was clear – he was flipping them off, sneering at their joined hands. He felt Dracula tense, ready to fight, and murmured to just ignore the asshole. They were nearly at the club anyway. The man yelled again, this time joined by two friends. They were hastily crossing the road to get closer. Jonathan changed his mind about ignoring them. If they were going to deliberately aggravate a creature of the night, then they were going to have to deal with the consequences.

“How about we get supper now, and drinks later?” He asked, giving his husband a look. Dracula nodded wickedly. They turned away from the main road and into a dark, deserted underpass. The tunnel was long and decorated with several generations of indecipherable graffiti and there were suspicious stains all over the concrete floor already, so no one would notice a few more. They waited near the middle for the men to catch up.

“Why you runnin’ away, huh?” The first man called, swaggering toward them with his hood up and his hands in his pockets. He was oozing arrogance, and it almost turned Jonathan’s stomach. Almost. He was also very hungry, after all.

“They runnin’ cuz they don’t wanna face us like real men!” The second added, his face pinched and pointed like a weasel’s. “You know why? Cuz they _ain’t_ real men, ha ha!” He sniggered. His friends seemed to think that was hilarious, despite the fact that Dracula towered over them. Jonathan wasn’t all that short, either.

“What’d ya come down here for, fairies?” The third man panted. He was horribly overweight, and had obviously struggled to keep pace with his lankier companions. Jonathan glanced at Dracula, whose eyes looked like black holes in the darkness, absorbing what little light there was and reflecting nothing.

“Dinner.” He breathed, just loud enough for Jonathan to hear.

“Huh?” The leader of the gang barked, cracking his knuckles. “What’d you say, fag?” Dracula just smiled, but it was an evil smile; the kind that made you want to run and hide; the kind that sent ghostly shivers down your spine, and made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“Come a little closer, and I’ll tell you.” Jonathan said, taking a step toward them. The weasel-faced man pulled a gun from his waistband and pointed it at him in warning. Jonathan ignored the weapon and took another step. The overweight man seemed to panic a little, and drew his own gun. The leader watched with contempt. Nobody was watching Dracula, except for one.

Jonathan took a step as if to circle around them, but really he was drawing their attention away and giving the Count a chance to get behind them without hindrance. The overweight man’s finger trembled on the trigger.

“Why you so keen to die, pussy? Do you need me to look after you? Cuz I know how to treat a lil’ bitch like you.” The leader smirked, crossing his arms across his chest. He didn’t see Dracula behind him. He didn’t even have time to scream before his throat was slashed and his vocal cords severed. He dropped with a heavy thump. His friends spun around, dropping their guns in shock. Quick as the crack of a whip, Jonathan swiped the weapons. He tossed one to his husband, who grinned toothily, his eyes already bloodshot and dark. The smell of blood hit him like a wave and his mouth watered. He locked eyes with the weasel-faced man and pounced. The man shrieked as Jonathan’s fingers closed around his neck. He struggled like a wild animal to get free, fuelled by blind terror, but Jonathan was stronger. He sank his rapidly sharpening teeth into the man’s throat, the skin tearing like wet paper and flooding his mouth with thick, hot blood. Jonathan looked up into his eyes and spat blood into his face.

“You hate people like us?” He snarled ferally. “How _cute!_ ” The whites of the man’s eyes showed all around the irises, and he clutched weakly at Jonathan’s shirt.

“Please-” he spluttered, blood pumping freely from the wound. “Please no-” Jonathan silenced him by getting his teeth around the man’s larynx and ripping it out. He watched with vicious glee as the light died in the man’s eyes and his chest stilled. He lapped eagerly at the hole, trying to waste as little as possible. The blood flowed like a river, dark and slick, and he drank as much as he could. It dripped off his chin and stained the front of his shirt, but Jonathan could hardly bring himself to care in the midst of this feeding frenzy.

A sudden gunshot sounded, and his head snapped upwards. The overweight man was sprawled a few feet away, blood spurting obscenely from the bullet wound in his head. Dracula was standing with the still-smoking gun in his hand, watching Jonathan with something akin to pride and lust in his expression. Jonathan smiled, wiping the blood from his chin.

“Well?” He said, motioning to the lifeless bodies around them. “I thought you said you were hungry?” Dracula grinned again, but it was far less frightening this time. He dragged Jonathan up for a fiery kiss before dropping to the ground to feed.

They drank until they were full, which was no small feat. Eventually, the corpses of the gang lay drained and grey, their eyes still open in vivid expressions of fear. A fly landed on the glassy left eye of the leader, and Dracula sat up on his haunches, dusting his hands off on his pants. He helped Jonathan to his feet, and carefully licked a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s get rid of these-” he hummed, nodding at the corpses. “And then we’ll go for those drinks, yes?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little V-day fluff!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a few hours late, but I accidentally dozed off for a bit... It is by far the sweetest, cutest thing I have ever written and I do not claim any responsibility for any tooth cavities that may be gained by reading this. It was fun, but also difficult, to write. Enjoy!! xx

Jonathan woke slowly, the last shreds of his dreams beginning to drift away. He rolled over, dragging the heavy duvet with him, and found the bed otherwise empty. It took a few moments to register in his sleep-addled brain but then he blinked, baffled. Usually Dracula was still out cold (literally and figuratively) when Jonathan woke up. No pun intended, but the man slept like the dead and was _not_ quick to rise. He twisted awkwardly to look at the clock hanging on the opposite wall, rubbing at his eyes. It seemed to be eleven o’ clock. He blinked again, uncomprehending. That couldn’t be right – he was always awake by 9:30, at the latest. Eleven meant he’d slept the whole day _and_ half the night away!

He fumbled for his watch on his bedside drawers, but his fingers closed around a cup instead. Confused, and more than a little curious, Jonathan lifted the cup to inspect it. He was expecting tea, or even water, but the liquid inside was dark and thick. The smell had his mouth watering and gums aching. Blood. Fresh, too, by the smell of it. He gulped it down thirstily, containing the stray droplets with the back of his hand. He felt it flowing down his throat, warm and somehow refreshing.

“My, my. You _were_ hungry.”

Jonathan’s gaze snapped upwards. Dracula was standing in the doorway, leaning casually on the frame. He had a laden tray in one hand and a pitcher full of blood in the other. He met his eyes and smiled. It was a genuine smile, and it warmed Jonathan to his bones. Before he could open his mouth, Dracula stepped forward.

“Happy Valentine’s, my love.” He murmured, carefully placing the tray on Jonathan’s lap and kissing his cheek. Jonathan couldn’t help the slight blush that crept up his neck at that. He wasn’t used to his husband being so... affectionate. He remembered just in time to return the sentiment, and received another kiss for it, this time on the nose.

“Eat up, darling. I’ve got some dishwashing to do, but I’ve got something planned for you later.” Dracula announced, tracing Jonathan’s cheekbone with two long fingers. He winked, and left in the direction of the kitchen. Jonathan hummed happily, and examined his breakfast (lunch?). It wasn’t overly fancy, but it had all of his favourite breakfast foods – pancakes, fried eggs (without a runny centre), bacon, and two fluffy scones with strawberry jam. He also had a mug of tea and the pitcher of blood in case he became properly hungry again. His mouth watered again, and he tucked in.

It was about an hour later, after he had eaten, gotten out of bed and washed, that he and Dracula settled on the sofa to watch some seasonal, romantic-comedy film. They were watching it as a joke, poking fun at the lead characters, the crappy acting and the boundless clichés, but Jonathan found himself getting involuntarily drawn into the story. The plot revolved – predictably – around an impossible love triangle; the girl’s long-time boyfriend was leaving to join the military, and her high school crush just _happened_ to be back in town again. About halfway through, there was a terrible car accident involving the girl’s brother and her dog, and if Jonathan teared up a little then that was his business alone.

Once the film was over, they decided to go out for a walk in the city. He remembered at the last minute to grab a few snacks, just in case. They made their way to the city centre with the intent of following the lights trail to the waterfront. As they walked, Dracula put his arm around Jonathan’s shoulders and held him close. His arm was heavy and it made walking in sync difficult, but the embrace was warm and Jonathan leaned into it. There were a few couples also out and about, but it was past midnight so most of the people they saw were either extraordinarily drunk or on their way home.

They walked mostly in silence, but it was a comfortable, companionable silence. Jonathan thought about how unnerved he’d been when he first met Dracula, and how that had quickly turned into blind fright and horror. He thought about his long journey back to England, and how he’d tried to make a new life for himself but had never been able – no matter how hard he tried – to forget the tall, dark-haired stranger who had terrified and intrigued him so much. He thought about the day when he’d first seen the Count again, and the shock that had fixed him to the spot when their eyes met. He definitely remembered the way Dracula’s lips had curved into a smirk, and the way his gaze cut through the night like a searchlight. It had been a few short weeks later that he’d realised that he had been deeply in love with the man since he had managed to escape Castle Dracula. A few months after that, they’d bought a house and moved in together. It was an unbelievable story to tell, but Jonathan had no intentions of ever telling it in full. If anyone were to ask, they’d agreed on the story that they’d met in a bar and were too drunk to remember all the details.

He didn’t notice Dracula had stopped until he laughed and caught the back of Jonathan’s coat.

“And just _where_ do you think _you’re_ going?” He smiled teasingly, linking their fingers together.

“Off to the pub, of course.” Jonathan answered, without missing a beat. He grinned at Dracula’s expression, and leaned on the waterfront railing. It was cold and the wind swept inland, ruffling hair and causing coats and jackets to be pulled tighter, but he didn’t mind. He wasn’t as sensitive to changes in temperature as he had been before. Besides, Dracula was right there to cuddle up to if he _did_ get cold. They chattered aimlessly for a while, the familiar banter and good-natured bickering a reassurance of their feelings for one another. However, Jonathan soon began to notice that Dracula was more fidgety than usual, and he kept toying with something in his pocket.

“What have you even got in there? A mouse?” He asked interestedly, snickering when the Count jumped.

“No!” He replied with a huff. He didn’t like being caught unawares, but it gave Jonathan great pleasure to catch him. “Who keeps a mouse in their pocket, anyway?” He added with bemusement.

“I knew a boy, once, who kept a live mouse in his shirt pocket.” Jonathan mused. “He also kept a dog’s tooth on a string around his neck, or so the rumours were.”

“How odd.”

“It was.”

The wind was lessening, at least for now, and as for whatever Dracula was planning, he seemed to decide that it was time to act on it. He took Jonathan’s hand in his own and brought it to his lips. Jonathan smiled and pretended to curtsey, which drew an amused snort from the Count. Then he was serious again, but his eyes were still soft. Before Jonathan knew what was happening, Dracula had dropped to one knee and produced a gorgeous diamond ring.

“I know that you’ve been my bride for quite some time now,” he began, looking a little pink in the cheeks but determined nonetheless. “But I think the original meaning and intent no longer applies.” He was speaking quietly enough to not be overheard, for this would surely sound suspicious to an onlooker. Jonathan felt his own face heat up, and he couldn’t help the hand that flew to his mouth. He’d proposed before – to Mina – but he’d never been proposed to, and it was a rather dizzying experience.

“I would very much like to spend the rest of eternity with you, Johnny, as long as you wish the same.” Dracula continued, resolutely ignoring the elderly couple standing a few feet away and watching excitedly. “Will you marry me, and be my bride in a truer sense?” He asked, and all Jonathan could do was nod. His head was filled with a strange, fuzzy feeling and he felt Dracula slip the ring onto his finger. He threw himself into his husband’s arms, unable to stem the tears of joy slipping down his cheeks. Behind them, the elderly couple cheered. Dracula drew back a little to take a better look at his bride-to-be. He was also smiling like an idiot, which only made Jonathan cry harder. He buried his face in Dracula’s shoulder, taking deep, shuddering breaths to regain control. The hand rubbing circles on his back wasn’t helping.

“How about we hit that pub you were so keen to go to just now?” Dracula grinned, and Jonathan laughed, a pure sort of ecstasy filling him like glitter. What they had was real now – there was absolutely not a sliver of doubt that they were both on the same page; that they were officially in love!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know the layout of London, or if it has a lights trail - every city I've ever lived in has one, so I assume that's the norm - so to any Londoners reading this... I am very sorry.


End file.
